


Truthseeking

by Morbane



Category: Crown Duel - Sherwood Smith, Remalna's Children - Sherwood Smith
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, Gen, Politics, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/pseuds/Morbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like a bad penny, Flauvic Merindar always turns up again, and Elestra decides that she will be the one to deal with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truthseeking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mairelon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairelon/gifts).



I came into the little ante-room beside the Petitioner's Court a moment after bells rang out for the change of gold to green and found my family had all arrived before me. We are the diligent sort of royals.

I was expecting another afternoon spent disentangling the less urgent, more complicated legal questions and disputes that were often put aside until more of us were home together. In the last few years, although he had made no official announcement, it was clear that my father, Vidanric, had shifted his main role to that of a kind of ranger, patrolling the land, while Alaraec was left to carry out the more sedentary work of kingship. And I had only just returned from a census of Remalna's south-east quadrant. Just as the local militias made a better showing when my father's troops arrived to train with them, a census - which has monetary implications that last a very long time - sometimes goes more smoothly with a member of the royal family taking charge.

For my no-nonsense approach to surveying, I had heard myself named 'Elestra the Truthseeker'. It was a nickname that might sit better with my sister Oria, two years into her mage training, or even my brother, whose judgements in the Petitioner's Courts were - usually - made with the appropriate care. But it was mine, and even if it was not always spoken as a compliment, I would keep it.

I'd learned to take such names as I acquired with better grace than I had in my teenage years.

Care and solemnity were not, it seemed, the order of the day. Alaraec was holding a document from which tassels trailed; my mother Mel was glaring at it, and my father's hand on her shoulder seemed all that kept her from doing more than glaring.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"A letter from Alsais," Alaraec told me. 

That did not explain the glare. We had no present conflict with Colend. In fact, we had relatively little contact with them. Once, certain families of rank in Remalna would send their offspring to Colend to acquire Court polish, but in my parents' war-plagued reign, sophistication was not the quality most valued at Athanarel; nor had Athanarel hosted many artistic celebrations such as would merit the admiration of the Colendi. So relations between the two countries, although never hostile, had cooled a little.

"From whom?"

Alaraec tilted the rice-paper scroll so that I could see the signature at the bottom; although the letter was written in a fine dark maroon, the signature was the Lirendi royal colour, cerulean blue. I didn't know the name - Lady Ilsaenne - but if she had the right to use that colour, I had no doubt she held rank.

"Curious," I said.

I was about to frame another question, but my mother saved me the trouble. "It's Flauvic Merindar," she snarled. "He's turned up at the Colendi court."

Alaraec nodded. Both he and my father looked intently at me, obviously curious to see my reaction.

The last time Alaraec had seen Flauvic Merindar, he had been a tree. The last time I had seen Flauvic Merindar, he had been a flash of gold disappearing behind a bush. His attempt to take me hostage to ensure safe travel to the border had had mixed results: he had, indeed, gotten away, but my parents had caught up with me some ways before Flauvic reached his intended destination. 

I said, "How kind of a scion of the Colendi royal house to inform us of that."

My father gave one of his tiniest smiles, angled so that my mother couldn't see. 

I continued, "What an interesting mix of messages. I suppose he hasn't committed any crime that they're punishing him for, or you probably wouldn't look so irritated, Mama. But they must be aware that he has the status of a wanted criminal in Remalna, or they wouldn't be doing us the courtesy of giving us this news. It is phrased as a courtesy, isn't it?"

"Exactly, 'Lessa," Alaraec said, beginning to smile himself.

I grinned back at him, feeling I'd scored a victory in more ways than one. It had been five years since Flauvic had tried to ride off with me. His actions then were surely unconnected to his movements now - nor would I confuse my feelings about the two.

"It doesn't surprise me that Flauvic should make a home for himself in the Colendi court," my father said. "He was brought up in Sles Adran, but he was trained in a way that the Colendi approve of - with attention to grace, fashion, manners..."

"And he has the look of a Dei," my mother agreed. 

"it's not easy for an outsider to gain approval in Alsais," my father continued, "unless he or she has immense artistic talent. But Flauvic might do better than most." He and Mama exchanged a significant look.

"What surprises me," I said, "is that this news doesn't come from our ambassador."

"Sorgaeth's last dispatch came two weeks ago," Alaraec said, his eyebrows drawing together.

"And the last time he sent us news of anything _outside_ his usual schedule of letters was... what was it?" Mama frowned.

"Two years ago," Alaraec said, with heavy irony.

"May I?" I said. I took the brief letter from Alaraec, carefully, noting the subtle patterning on the edge. Such a fragile vessel for an official communication - but that, in its way, was a compliment. It implied that the recipient had the taste and discretion to preserve the message in its original artistry. Blunter Colendi messages came on harsher, more durable materials.

The message was phrased as if Flauvic's appearance at the Colendi court was a novelty, a curiosity that might interest us all. It suggested, not that Flauvic met with the approval of the monarch, but that official state notice might be taken of him - soon.

"I wonder," I said. "It's almost as if Lady Ilsaenne want to know what _we_ want done with Flauvic."

"Tell them to lock him up in a dungeon," my mother snorted. I grinned.

"We could do that," my father said. "Of course, since Flauvic is already established at their court, that might seem like an insult - to their taste - which wouldn't do."

"If you look at it like that, it's a bit of an insult on their side, isn't it, though," my mother retorted. "'Hail, Remalna, an enemy of your realm arrived at court, but don't worry, he's the darling of persons of influence, and doing quite well for himself'!"

"It's not a very official communication, though," I said, considering the maroon. "I think our Lady Ilsaenne will be _very_ interested to see what we say in reply."

"You think she wants information?" Alaraec asked.

"I think it's a warning," my father said. He looked troubled. "Flauvic isn't the only traitor to Remalna who has found his way to Colend over the years."

"Those barons, in the war before you took the throne - they were a long time ago," my mother argued.

"Yes," my father said grimly. "They were."

We were all silent, chewing over this. I was imagining Flauvic using Colend - and other disaffected expatriates - as a base of support for nefarious plans.

"So," Alaraec said, drawing us back to the matter at hand - a skill he had honed after years of listening to ordinary people's complaints - "we could say, _Thank you, you can keep him, we don't want him,_ or we could say, _Thank you for telling us, and if you don't lock him up, you should watch your backs_ , or we can say..."

"Or," I said, "we can find out more."

"How do you propose we do that, Elestra?" my brother asked me.

"I propose to go myself," I said boldly. "Our ambassador in Colend's reliable, but he hasn't shown initiative in a very long time. My Kefilian is quite good."

My father opened his mouth to protest, and I added quickly, "And if I have an obvious reason for visiting the Colendi court, maybe I can pursue the normal goals of an ambassador more discreetly."

I thought my father might like this idea; without even looking at my mother, I knew she had deep misgivings, which I would have to counter later. But it was Alaraec I looked at now. Alaraec, who'd gone off on a courtship romp two summers past, and who would surely understand this as a thirst for adventure. Alaraec, who hadn't been first on the scene when Flauvic and I had parted ways.

Alaraec grinned.

Good. I hadn't won the war, but I'd won the battle that would decide it.

* * *

In private, in the library, I reviewed Colendi customs: eating soundlessly, dividing the day into two sets of twelve rather than coloured quarters; conveying a vast range of meaning with coloured ribbons and other accessories.

I paused, lost in memory: when Flauvic had kidnapped me, I'd tried to mark the way with white ribbons torn from my dress. 

What might those ribbons have meant?

I searched among the shelves, and found a Colendi etiquette book. White ribbons meant "romantic exclusivity". I snorted.

Well, the etiquette book was surely out of date.

If it came to a battle of wits between Flauvic and myself, I feared our battleground would disadvantage me. Everything about Flauvic - his poise and grace and beauty - seemed suited to everything I'd heard about the Colendi court - a court where art, and artifice, were prized above all else. They would favour him, not me.

However. I was no beauty, but in the years since I'd met Flauvic, I'd learned to value grace - both that which I already possessed inside me, and that which I might show in speech and movement.

And our strange journey, so many years ago, had suggested to me that Flauvic was not - or not _only_ \- the villain of Mama's tales. He had not wished to harm me.

He had been very alone.

I heard myself thinking that, as if my teenage self spoke to me. _He was so very alone_ : I mocked myself, just a little, for such sentimental thoughts. Just because Flauvic had asked what I was thinking, had seemed to truly care what I said...

* * *

The day before I departed, with Jenine, my old Colendi tutor, to accompany me, and with a full riding to escort me, my mother called me aside. "I have something for you to take with you," she said, her face very serious. She gave me a clear glass stone.

"What is this?" I asked.

"When Flauvic turned all of Athanarel to stone," she said, "when he held a knife to my throat, and told your father exactly what he must do when confirming Flauvic as king...

"We confronted him in the throne room," she said. "In front of him was the Duke of Grumareth, a statue like the rest. He toppled the statue, and Grumareth shattered into a hundred pieces." 

She held out the stone to me again. "When the Hill Folk lifted the spell, this is what those pieces of Grumareth became," she said. "Take this, and never forget who Flauvic is."

I rode out with that piece of stone in the bag at my hip - as clear as rain water, like the seeing-stones the mages used, its effect on my mind the opposite of clarity.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello mairelon - I hope you don't mind that this is almost a set-up of a story rather than a story, but I wanted to write a quick treat before the collection opened. In my head, Flauvic and Elestra would now spend a book's worth of events manoeuvring around each other at Alsais, as romance, of course, developed.
> 
> Thanks to donutsweeper for giving this a speedy check. :)


End file.
